How My Perfect Life Was Inverted II

Chapter Nine: In the Dark

I found myself back in the meadow; that vivid, vibrant meadow of soft viridian grass and clear cerulean sky. My dress was still the simple white garment that I, as far as I could recall, had always worn, glowing ivory in the bright midday sun, and my feet, as always, were bare, the soft, dampened grass beneath pressing gently against my soles. Everything I knew, everything I remembered, was this calm, uncluttered meadow, and I felt at one, at ease with my surroundings, for I was not unlike this great expanse of never-ending green; simple, gentle and unchanging. Nothing sinister beneath surface, no deep secrets and desires and yearnings waiting to be realised, oh no; I was simple, I was calm, I was still, and, although rather pretty to look at, of no great interest; like the pure pasture stretched out before me, I was nothing more than what could be seen on the surface.

Not at all like… like a waterfall, or a river, or… or that other body of water, what was it…? That wide, wild expanse that smelt of salt, that was cobalt and sapphire and jade all at once, where monsters hunted beneath its surging, shifting surface; what was it?

I frowned, and halted my languorous strides, the smooth, untouched surface of my serenity rippling in the wake of the unwelcome, unknown touch of curiosity. I had always been here, living on this untouched land, and I had always been alone; I had never seen nor heard of this wide expanse of liquid that suddenly plagued my thoughts. As a matter of fact, this… pool… was everything that I despised, that I was against. It was unpredictable; it could lick at your fingers like a loyal pet one moment, but rear as violently as any errant stallion at another. It was vicious and spiteful and tempestuous, choosing its victims indiscriminately; drowning its lovers with as little remorse as it did its neglecters: It was a She, and a surge of hatred rose within me as I slowly realised that she was the worst kind of woman. A man would be a fool to fall in love with her.

But what was her name? She had captured the hearts and souls of men throughout the ages, had been both damned and extolled, had been christened a thousand times over, and yet not one of her monikers would make itself known to me.

I closed my eyes tightly shut, my mind throbbing with the unfamiliar pangs of confusion; I breathed in deeply, recognising the subtle perfume of dew and lavender and wildflower and grass. With stubborn force, I returned my attention back to the calming simplicity of the meadow that was my home.

I didn't feel the need to question the purpose of this field, nor did I want to; in my calm, serene heart, wrapped in the welcoming blanket of content tranquillity, there were no stirrings of curiosity, no yearning for other worlds, other knowledge, other times. Curiosity breeds longing, and longing nurtures restlessness; in turn, restlessness births that which is the enemy of all harmony, discontent. Better to be content with what I knew than with what I did not.

And what did I know better than myself?

So I thought of myself, of my uncompromising simplicity; I thought of my russet hair and my white dress, and of how light and dark contrasted in me in a way that it did not in my surroundings.

And it was then that I realised I was missing my hat.

My eyes snapped open, hands reaching up to grasp my loose hair, but my head remained bare. Spinning on my heel, I looked wildly around, eyes sharpened for a discordant fleck of white, glowing like an errant beacon in the blinding field of green.

Instead, I saw something black; an ebony speck that had appeared on the horizon, where emerald and azure mingled in complementary harmony.

Go away, I thought, irritated; I had lost my bonnet; the last thing I wanted, or needed, for that matter, was an annoying little bird.

But even so, the creature continued to grow, and as I sighed and crossed my arms in annoyance, I could see that it wasn't black at all, but rather brown, small, swift, delicate; and as light as the air that its small, outstretched wings so effortlessly grazed.

The bird seemed tired, beating its wings frantically, its twitters coming out in exaggerated gasps; soon it was before me, hovering an inch or so away from my nose, before the creature lost all strength and collapsed, dead, falling to rest in my bosom.

…I had a dead sparrow nesting between my breasts: Surreal couldn't even begin to describe it.

As I stared, I felt his warm little body moving, pulsating with every breath, soft feathers tickling my skin; soon he had raised his head, looked up at me with his small beady eyes, stretched his wing out from my bodice in the direction from whence he came, and chirruped in irritation.

Over there.

I blinked and stared at him in bemusement. Closing his black eyes briefly, the sparrow shook his head, flapping his small brown wings out indignantly.

Go over there.

I simply stared at him further. Aggravated, the sparrow flew up to hover beside my ear, his wing brushing the lobe as he twittered excitedly into it.

Walk in that direction, and take me with you, you silly little tart.

I narrowed my eyes at him, frowning as he flew back to curl up in my bodice, hiding his head under a wing. After a moment's silent debate, I gently prodded at his body, causing him to slowly lower his wing and look up at me inquisitively, head tilted to the side.

…Yes?

"Why don't you go on my shoulder?" I said, tapping it as I spoke. The bird's eyes darted briefly to glance at the curve of bare skin before shaking his head adamantly and diving further into my bodice in such a way that he would prove to be impossible to dislodge. I sighed and started in the suggested direction, uncomfortably aware that a sparrow was sleeping contentedly within my bosom. He was, without a doubt, the most perverted little bird I had ever met.

After fifteen or so minutes of indolent strolling, my eyes began to make out a white fleck, and I quickened my pace, looking approvingly down at the bird nestling happily against my skin.

"You pointed me to my hat, didn't you?"

I felt rather than saw the sparrow shift his little wings in what I assumed was the avian equivalent of a shrug, and smiled, shaking my head in amusement. Carefully, I reached down to gently scoop him out of my dress, which was a fairly difficult task, considering how he wriggled and attempted to burrow further into my chest, chirruping in panic when my fingers closed firmly around his little body, pinning his wings effectively to his sides.

His squirming began to increase, as though terrified of being caught in my loose fist, and I frowned at this; why would he be scared? I wasn't going to hurt him. It wasn't as if he was hurting me; despite all of his struggling and twittering and wriggling, not once had he used his sharp little beak against me.

Not once.

Soon enough, I had him out of and away from my chest, and slowly raising my other hand, cradled the bird gently between my fingers, stroking what parts of his brown feathers I could reach. It took several minutes, but soon his wriggling had slowed, growing weaker, and as I watched, he closed his eyes and lowered his head in what seemed to be resignation to his inescapable fate.

I pulled him closer and kissed him, my lips brushing gently against his head; this didn't seem to calm him in the slightest, which had been my intention, but rather, quite the opposite; his head reared back, beak tearing painfully against my lips, and I cried out, gasping as a scarlet spring sputtered forth, gushing as though it were a damn; I felt my grip loosening, his wings brushing against my fingers as he prepared himself for flight.

"Wait!" I pleaded even as my hands went to cover my lips, fingers failing to suppress the crimson river. Don't leave me!

To his credit, the sparrow hesitated, his body turning in midair so that he might face me; I thought I saw something—pity, sorrow, love?—well up in his black eyes as he stared down at me, trying to suppress the overwhelming flow of cerise spilling forth from my lips even as I pleaded silently with him.

If you leave me, I'll die.

The sparrow slowly began to descend, only to halt suddenly, looking down at me once more.

If I stay, I'll die.

My heart cracked as I watched him turn away, flying higher, higher, higher until he was just a speck disappearing into the welcoming embrace of the sun.

Broken, I looked down at myself, slowly realising that half of my dress—my plain, simple white dress, of which I had been so proud—was stained a deep rich burgundy.

So much blood, I thought dazedly, my legs collapsing beneath me as I felt the spring continue to sputter forth. For some reason, having my fingers slick with sticky blood immediately after an encounter with the sparrow was not a new one, even though I was certain that I had never met the bird before today. So much blood in me…

And then I smiled, a wide, thin smile, a thought striking me as I looked down at my stained, darkening gown.

Perhaps I'm not so plain after all.

Again, I awoke screaming; again, Flavio was kicked out of my bed; and again, my maid had to crawl back up to pacify me, wrapping his arms tightly about my shoulders and stroking my hair whilst gently reminding me that everybody was asleep.

"Am I bleeding?" I sobbed raggedly. "M-M—My lips, my dress—Am I bleeding? Fl-Flavio…"

"Shush…" he soothed, fingers stroking my cheek carefully. "Hush, little Sierra; don't you cry…"

"He wanted to hurt me…" I rambled, not at all relaxed. "I killed him, and now he wants to hurt me…"

"It was a dream; just a dream—"

"It was not just a dream!" I shrieked suddenly, causing Flavio to instinctively cover my mouth in order to muffle the wail. Breathing deeply, I slowly pulled his hand away and, leaning closer, whispered furiously against his lips, my weeping eyes flashing, "It was not just a dream Flavio; it can't have been. I've rarely had dreams before I came here, and when I did, they were never like this: never—like—this!"

Flavio looked at me, worry in his eyes; I felt his fingers brushing against my bare shoulder, and knew suddenly that my nightgown had fallen down, uncompromisingly baring my right breast for any and everyone to see.

Jack would have loved that.

But I wasn't embarrassed in the slightest; I wasn't lying when I had told Flavio that I honestly wouldn't mind if he saw me naked, which had only been a few hours before. So, sniffling, I raised my head a little higher in defiance, silently daring him to contradict me, challenging him to… To what, I honestly didn't know.

Gently, I felt Flavio's fingers move lower, until he held the thin cotton in his careful, precise grasp, pulling the garment delicately up so as to conserve my modesty, or what was left of it. And then he slowly raised his gaze in measured control, and I felt my initial rage fade at the look that I saw there.

"It was just a dream," he murmured against my lips, his eyes black in the moonlight that streamed from the open door that led to my balcony. "A nightmare, nothing more. You have been through quite a lot rather recently, and you've not yet fully… recovered. Sierra, it was just a dream."

"It was not just a dream…" I repeated faintly, my voice sounding weak even to my own ears; I lowered my gaze, looking down at his lips, hovering so innocently, fascinatingly close to my own, and had to close my eyes as I looked away, even as I leant further into his loose embrace, my head falling to rest comfortably on his shoulder. "It was not just a dream, Flavio…"

The more I said it, the stupider it sounded. Perhaps Flavio was right; perhaps my rich, vivid dreams of the uninhabited meadow and the little sparrow were simply my way of grieving over Pearl…

…Poor, sweet little Pearl, whose face continued to haunt me; her blue eyes, and how they widened with curiosity, or, indeed, any other overwhelming emotion; her rose-coloured lips parting, as though about to speak—or in her case, squeak. I smiled thinly at this, my eyes continuing to water.

I miss her so much… Far more than I miss Jack… Because… Because… Because I actually…

"I love her…" I finished my thought quietly aloud, my voice trembling from tiredness and the strain of holding back defiant tears. "I loved her Flavio, an-and I love her still, even though I shouldn't; sh-sh-she was never mine to love…"

There was only silence between us, and I would have been content for us to remain that way; I found Flavio's antics amusing enough by day, but at night, and at this current time, I most certainly wasn't in the mood to indulge in his lunacy.

Thankfully, neither was Flavio.

"Love is a very curious thing," he murmured softly to me, his long fingers stroking my hair with intolerably comforting gentleness. He continued, in that low, soothing voice, devoid of any falsetto, "I like to think that it's like a small wild little animal that at first glance seems perfectly safe and sweet and utterly approachable, and yet it is anything but: Like an otter. Or a weasel. Or even a plague-ridden rat—"

Such wishful thinking: the clown had returned, and he had returned with a vengeance that was nothing short of inappropriate. A mild wave of irritation rippled through me; now was not the time for a jester.

"Flavio…"

"Sì…?"

I hesitated, uncertain, uncomfortable; even slightly unwilling.

"Love is not a plague-ridden rat," I said instead (and most pathetically, I shamefully admit).

Flavio simply gave me a sad, knowing smile in return, and I was suddenly struck silent by this unnatural oddity: his rare, hidden, insightful… wisdom. Wisdom garnered from experience. I then recalled the encounter with the flamboyant Italian perfumer the day before, and how Flavio had been oddly mute afterwards.

"Love is uncontrollable, Sierra—and we can't control the plague, now, can we? Of course not—And like the Black Death, love chooses its victims indiscriminately; sometimes it strikes at the people that you shouldn't love at all—which, again, is a rather startling similarity to the plague, do you not agree?"

He punctuated his rambling, disjointed proclamation with a gentle kiss against my hair, his hands continuing to rub my back and shoulders, and I sighed, purring quietly at the sensation.

"But Pearl was certainly not one of them," he said to me firmly. "Pearl was a small, sweet, bouncy little daughter of Satan, and she was very lovable as an explicably indirect result: You should be grieving for her, and I fully intend to allow you to do so, in your own time; as a matter of fact, I've already ordered several embroidered handkerchiefs for the sole purpose of drying your eyes—but not for blowing your nose, though, no no no, certainly not for that; they are, after all, crafted from the finest Chinese silk."

I smiled at this, grateful for his attempts at lifting my spirits; and in a way, he had somewhat succeeded. Raising my head slightly, I shifted in his arms, and planted a kiss of gratitude on his soft skin; at that point where neck and shoulder met and merged.

Then suddenly, I felt myself blush.

"I… I know that," I sighed, burying my face into his shoulder and praying that he would attribute my heated cheeks to the humid climate and nothing more. "I know that these nightmares are due to Pearl's… her…" I cleared my throat, and tried again. "I know that, Flavio, I really, really do; But these nightmares… I mean, yes, I've only had two, but… Well, I rarely dream, and so… Oh, Flavio; they simply scare the hell out of me, and I don't know what to do about them. And—" I stopped abruptly.

And I think I'm going insane. A madness born of irreparable grief.

Flavio's slightly callused fingers had resumed their stroking, tracing my shoulder blades, the curve of my spine, the back of my neck, clearly uncaring as to how or where he touched me. Such a contrast to Jack, whose own elegant digits would have found an excuse to caress my buttocks long ago; Flavio had honestly meant to comfort me, nothing more. How many men in the world were like that?

"You should rest," he was saying to me soothingly, lowering himself carefully onto the mattress and taking me with him. "You should fall asleep now, Sierra, and get some rest; you deserve rest. You're… You're very upset right now, you know."

I smiled again; I couldn't help it: his childishly verbal incompetence was really rather endearing.

"And so should you," I said to him in return. "The number of times I've woken you up by screaming, or kicking you out of bed…"

"Shush shush now, Sierra…" he repeated once more, adding suddenly, "Shall I sing you a lullaby?"

I closed my eyes at this, fighting down the urge to glare at him.

"No, thank you."

"Fine," he sniffled, offended. "It's your loss."

We laid in one another's arms for the rest of the night, his fingers stroking and caressing my shoulders in absent-minded tenderness, causing my skin to sigh in silent contentment. I must have fallen asleep, for when I awoke, my throat oddly parched, Flavio's head was thrown back onto the pillows, mouth hanging slightly open, a quiet snore escaping him. He must have been a heavy sleeper, for I found it oddly untroublesome to slip out of his arms—causing him to turn on his side, glowing hair shifting slightly in the moonlight as he sighed—and out of my bed.

Clumsily, my bare feet stumbled across the oddly cool floorboards, tripping over the outline of my clogs—or Flavio's. With forced care, I slowly traced the soft leather with my toes, mapping out its position, before slipping into the shoe and repeating the same careful process with my foot's twin. Yawning, my hands reached up to push back my dark hair, rubbing my eyes drowsily. Pulling my nightgown closer, I trotted unsteadily towards my desk, lighting an oil lantern with exaggerated care and, blinking in the sputtering light, moved unsteadily towards the sparsely-illuminated door.

Like any other false French aristocrat, I had every intention of sneaking down to the kitchen in search of a glass of water; I hadn't the heart to wake Flavio, or indeed any other member of the help. Perhaps whilst there, I'll help myself to an apple, some bread; the corset that I now wore with almost religious routine had effectively made swallowing large, filling meals impossible, simply because the design was such that it had closed about my ribs and stomach, preventing such servings from staying there long enough to be fully digested. I had learnt that whilst working in the Garter; Beth had slapped my fork out of my hand, telling me sharply that I'll make myself sick if I continued to eat more than the eight bites or so I had already consumed. Defiant, I had eaten what was left on my plate, more in protest than in hunger, and had experienced the consequences of such gluttonous obstinacy first-hand.

"I told you not to eat any more, didn't I?" Beth had laughed gently, lifting the handkerchief out of the bowl of water and wiping at my gasping lips. "Don't just stand there looking disgusted, Pearl; help Sierra with her stays."

"But there's vomit all over—"

"It's in a bucket, Pearl; don't be so particular, it's really rather unbecoming."

Late that night, Beth had pulled me down to the kitchen, where several other whores were waiting, raiding cupboards and experimenting with the fire; though some clients were generous enough to purchase their paid companions their meals along with their time, it was only after the last satisfied sailor's eyes had closed that the girls, bodices noticeably unlaced, could indulge their various appetites. Now that I had returned to primly-laced corsets and witty but deliberately credulous conversation between delicate, feminine bites, I supposed that it could almost be considered inevitable that I would also return to slaking my hunger under the cover of night.

I only half closed my door, allowing the moonlight to stream brightly into the black hall, thus illuminating the entrance, and, lantern held high, walked slowly to the stairs, my hand tracing the banister as I descended.

There really was no one awake; the large house was almost alarming in its stillness. Nervous, I silently wondered if there were any guards patrolling the perimeters. I certainly hoped so.

It took me about fifteen minutes, but I eventually stumbled upon the kitchen, a large square extravagantly decked out in beaten wood and glittering pans. Whilst looking around and silently cursing myself for my stupidity—on land water would, of course, be stored in a well somewhere as opposed to a festering barrel, and would be fetched only when necessary; and even if it wasn't, I'd not the slightest inkling of where to begin looking for the much-coveted but frustratingly elusive liquid—a distinct aura of disquiet suddenly fell upon me, silencing my scornful berating as I found myself suddenly holding my breath.

Silence: Silence, heavy and oppressive, wrapping about me like a funeral shroud, smothering me in its black folds.

My hand began to tremble as with each passing second the unsettling sensation of being watched solidified, smugly reassured in its quiet menace. The creaking of the cicadas became oddly muted as my heart's thudding increased, both in volume and speed; the air, which I had long since grown accustomed to, suddenly became too hot, too humid, too oppressing: My breaths suddenly came too short, both hurried and shallow, and a feeling of undeniable light-headedness caused me to drop the lantern as I staggered, hands reaching out to rest on the rough surface of the table before me, mouth wide open as I gasped futilely for air whilst the lamp rolled carelessly slow below me, its candle sputtering.

But I didn't dare turn around; I was too frightened by far.

Silence: then—

A sudden thud as the lantern rolled into a table leg; the candle going out: My heart leaping.

A lifetime seemed to pass as we both stood there, watching and being watched. And then I heard footsteps behind me, light and self-assured; felt an all-too familiar pair of hands reach out to rest on my hips in maddening confidence as the memorable heat of their owner's body drew closer, warming me easily through my thin cotton dress…

And then, the crowning glory: the tingling sensation of warm breath ruffling my white nightdress as the unexpected guest leant closer to ask, lowered voice doing little to reduce the playful mischief of its tone,

"Frightened? And here I was, thinking that you missed me."

-x!x-